


the first foot forward

by kinpika



Series: signed, sealed, delivered [11]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Somewhere in '93, post school, st mungo's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-17 00:09:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19328899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: London doesn’t look familiar, but in saying that, Charlie had never spent much time there anyway. Bill seems in his element, as they wind through crowds, out of the alley they’d arrived in. Passed off the Portkey to a ministry official, all nods and shaking hands, before then. They say something, perhaps about Natasha, that’s just white noise for Charlie. Focuses on his feet, making sure he doesn’t trip, as they walk on.





	the first foot forward

When Charlie gets a shout of his name over the roar of the resident dragons, he thought he was hearing things. Truly, as it was almost unheard of to go anywhere near the nursery, and not find him. So, he assumes that him being called was due to a newer member of their team unaware of his usual dwellings, and promptly ignored it.

Not until his name was repeated another four times, does Charlie finally turn. Handing off the young Welsh Green off to a nearby witch, he gets up. Can hear the voices, imagines the hands pointing. Feet carry him to the nearby fence, still firmly locked and charmed. Well, no one had forced their way in at least.

Wand ready to undo a few precautionary charms, he doesn’t have to. Not when the gate unlocks from the other side, opening a door to the rest of the sanctuary. Charlie goes to grumble, something about not watching for any potential escapee younglings, especially considering that three hatchlings went walkabout the other week, when he stops. Voice catching in his throat, at the sight of Bill.

Bill, tall and normally quite bright, with red rimmed eyes and lank hair, sallow skin. Like something had sucked all the happiness out of him. Thanking the wizard, Harrington, beside him, Bill all but pulls Charlie out of the nursery. “We need to talk,” he says, firmly, without giving Charlie any room to argue. 

“We’ll go to mine.”

The walk to Charlie’s place was fearfully quiet, only filling his head with countless worries. Was it mum? Dad? he thinks, unsure what he would do. What he should think. Ginny? No, not Ginny, not _again_. When Ron had regaled the family with what had conspired in his second year of schooling, Charlie had been over in a flash to the Burrow, equal parts preventing his parents from not sending his siblings to school once more, but also for Ginny. All out of sorts, smile never quite reaching her eyes again. Charlie’s hands shake, as he turns the knob to his place.

What constituted as his place of residence was one of the smaller housings, not too far from the others. Single roomed, as he had done his time in the dormitories. Filled with papers and photos, all moving around. Perhaps it helped that he had moved up in the relative ranks in the sanctuary, to warrant his own place. He goes to get a mug, trying to think of something to say to Bill, without letting his own fears show. At this point, Charlie realises that he probably should invest in a clock much like the one home. That he shouldn’t have run so far away.

“Bill—”

“It’s not—it’s not mum. Or dad. Or Percy or Fred.” Bill’s voice is tight when he responds, but runs through their siblings, their parents. Several aunts and uncles and a cousin or two Charlie couldn’t say he’d heard of. He’d be lying if he didn’t say that relief washed over him.

“Good, good, okay.” Leaning against the counter now, fingers pressing into the metal of the sink. Staring at the drain, mug forgotten. That was, that was okay. Wasn’t it? Nothing had happened (yet). Barely into his third year, Ron was. And Charlie had read all the papers and heard all the rumours. Even when they visited Bill over the summer, the air was tense, worries exchanged over moving photos. 

At that thought, Charlie looks to his left, out the corner of his eye. A photo sat, never once getting dusty, fondly moved about, with Charlie never noticing until too late. He smiles, when he watches the couple spin around, slowly, deliberately, never once taking their eyes off each other. Charlie watches as even, years on, the dress Natasha wore glittered, hair perfect, lips painted, eyes only on him. And he knew exactly how he looked at her.

Oh.

Pushing himself up, faster than he should’ve, Charlie turns on Bill. Oh, oh no, oh no ohno _ohno_.

But Bill, despite looking like he hadn’t slept in several days, was faster. Thoughts not muddled with the past and the present. “St Mungo’s.”

Catches Charlie off guard, as he lets out a rough “ _what_?”

“That’s where she is.” Bill clears his throat, runs a hand over his face. “She’s… she’s alive. Stable. Something got to her, and they found her in time.”

“Why am I hearing this all _now_?” Control, he tries to tell himself, control. Don’t get too emotional, don’t yell. Forming fists by his side, Charlie can feel his nails dig in a little too hard. “Why didn’t anyone send me an owl?”

“She’s only been there for a few days or so—” And Charlie knows that Bill was only trying to calm him down, he _knows_. But his vision was closing, dangerously so, where he could only see thinly ahead. “Charlie.” He hears Bill say his name, from a little too far away. “She’s _fine_. Natasha’s strong. She’ll pull through.”

Swallowing thickly, Charlie doesn’t rub his eyes, unclench his fists. Just continues to stare at the space on the wall. Another photo. Natasha, again. Smiling at him, brightly, from under a sun hat. This time last year, in Greece, where they had made a promise to each other. “What was it?”

“Huh?”

“That attacked her. What was it?”

Bill shakes his head, Charlie can see him do it out the corner of his eye. “No one knows for the moment. Nat’s not awake yet, and when she was found…” Trailing off, Bill shuffles. Arms crossed over his chest, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “I came here to take you with me. I didn’t think you should hear this in a letter.”

Okay. Okay, okay. Charlie can hear himself speaking, out loud. To thin air. Focuses on relaxing his hands, on keeping his head on straight. “When do we leave?” One foot forward in front of the other, towards his room. Everything was mechanical, precise. Packing a bag shouldn’t have been like this, where he just blindly threw what he could think of in there. Somewhere, he was sure, Natasha was making fun of him.

“Shouldn’t you tell someone that you’re leaving?”

Shouldering his bag, Charlie grabs his toothbrush from the bathroom. Don’t look in the mirror, don’t, don’t want to see my face. “I’m due for time off.” The only answer Charlie can think of, as he avoids looking at the mirror, the window. Shuts the cupboards with a little too much force. What did he need? He didn’t know. 

Bill says something. Maybe it was just him agreeing, but he still hadn’t moved from his spot in the middle of Charlie’s living area, out of place. Unsure of where to look, as Charlie could see that every time Bill thought he had settled on a spot, he grimaced, moved on. Too many reminders, around the place. Her scarf hanging on the coat rack, her favourite kind of tea by the pot. Charlie was almost thankful Bill hadn’t followed him into his room, as he wouldn’t have liked seeing the pile of laundry in the corner, Natasha’s idea of where to store clean clothes for later, when she had another visit, completely unannounced. 

When they walk out, they didn’t talk. Charlie couldn’t find the words, even if he wanted to. Until, he realises, they would take some time to get there. “How did you get here?” does he finally ask, as Bill had begun to lead the way. 

“Portkey. Can’t Apparate that far.” Short, clipped answer, but enough. Charlie doesn’t press it any further, doesn’t feel a need to know the ins and outs. Just trusts when Bill offers his hand, reaching for the shoe at the edge of the sanctuary.

He doesn’t look back. Knows that he’d be in a bit of trouble, for leaving the way he did. No, he wasn’t wrong, about due for time off. Only had two weeks off last year, spent with Natasha far away. Before that, next to nothing. Sure, Egypt was this year, but he’d been practically thrown out by his superiors for working ‘too much, too hard’. Charlie closes his eyes, as the world swirls around him, pulling him this way and that. Man, he hated travelling by Portkey.

London doesn’t look familiar, but in saying that, Charlie had never spent much time there anyway. Bill seems in his element, as they wind through crowds, out of the alley they’d arrived in. Passed off the Portkey to a ministry official, all nods and shaking hands, before then. They say something, perhaps about Natasha, that’s just white noise for Charlie. Focuses on his feet, making sure he doesn’t trip, as they walk on. Only once had he been to St Mungo’s, to visit another fellow dragonologist when discussing what a potential injury might have been. Charlie had been in his second year at the sanctuary, already stepping up. 

When he runs up the back of Bill, does he realise they’d arrived at the entry. Red bricked and advertising under renovations. Charlie squints up at the signs, not taking in how Bill says why they had arrived. Everything was just fading out, even as they step through the window. Bill must’ve noticed, surely, with how he’s gripping Charlie’s upper arm now. 

Once safely through, does Bill shake Charlie a little. “Hey, you in there?”

Charlie blinks once, twice. “Yeah, what?”

He can’t break down Bill’s expression, not really. Too many layers, far too much moving, searching. “Listen to me: she’ll be _fine_.”

“I know, you said that already.” Charlie couldn’t help the way he sounded childish, as if he should stick his lower lip out too. “It’s why you brought me here, wasn’t it?”

Bill rolls his eyes, purses his lips. “I brought you here as her _partner —_ boyfriend, husband, whatever — because I thought it was the right thing to do.”

It’s like a lot of the air suddenly leaves the room, only enough allowing for the damn near squeak of “ _what_?” leaving Charlie once again. He should’ve been counting just how many times he could ask that one worded question this day alone. 

“They’re restricting visitors, just because of… you’ll see, when you see her—”

Charlie drops his voice to a whisper, but still unable to stop the pitch when he insists “we’re not _married_ , Bill!” Just the thought seemed to knock something out of Charlie. He didn’t know what it was. Would file that away to fret about later.

From the look Bill was giving him, Charlie could almost guess his next few words. “She told me about Greece.”

Letting out a groan, Charlie hangs his head. His cheeks burned, just a little. “Nat needs to stop telling you everything.” And that was the truth. Granted, he knew she was more than capable of keeping secrets, but if Charlie had a sickle for every time Bill and Natasha whispered, he’d be able to afford… well, maybe a ring.

He doesn’t think about that.

Finally, a witch appear at their elbows, looking up at them both with a bright smile. Charlie was always just a fraction concerned about how the healers here maintained such a positive attitude in the face of everything. 

Bill clears his throat, saving the way Charlie just seemed to stare at the smiling witch, as they’re directed towards the reception desk. “We’re here to see Natasha Rhodes. Bill Weasley, Charlie Weasley,” he says, with a motion towards Charlie, as if to distinguish between themselves. “I was here earlier, but left to get Natasha’s… husband.”

Charlie was sure he turned pink, from the look Bill gave him to _cut that out_ , but the receptionist politely didn’t seem to notice. “You’re aware that visitors have been restricted for the moment?” 

“Yeah, but uh, Joutley suggested I get my brother down here.” Something else was exchanged, about Natasha’s immediate family being present. Minding gifts, manners, no loud noises. 

The receptionist hums, flicking through files, after giving her little speech. Finding something she was after. With another blinding smile, does she hold out her hand towards the stairs. “First floor, Dai Llewellyn ward.”

Charlie knew that ward. “Serious bite?” he asks, once they were heading up the stairs. That could mean several things.

Perhaps Bill could see him spiralling, and answers before he lost his footing. “Honestly, they don’t know, and stuck her in the most appropriate ward, I guess. You’ll see.”

“You keep saying that.” 

With a shrug, Bill takes Charlie through to the ward, pushing on the door. It hadn’t changed from the time Charlie had been here, and distinctly remembered he was by the bed, towards the far left. But now, judging by the small crowd gathering around the bed situated in the middle of the right row, Charlie knew this time was different. 

There were plenty of faces Charlie didn’t recognise, some barely giving him a glance before turning back to where Natasha lay. Sure, Natasha had pointed some out, in their shared time. Charlie recognised Aleksander Selwyn, giving him a firm handshake upon the look he received back. Short exchange of pleasantries, before he noticed Natasha’s mother.

 _Lyra_. 

Charlie had met Natasha’s mother several times, but each time he was still just a fraction dumbstruck by how startling alike they looked. Of course he knew all the differences, the shape of their noses, the curves of their jaws, the colour of their eyes. Lyra was sharper than Natasha, too, in the way she always seemed to hold a critical eye. Natasha had lamented once, long ago, that her mother was like that because of America, of trying to fit in. Always finding something to complain about, be it her hair or her piercings or her grades or the people she liked. (And Charlie remembers, with some sort of peace, that he had kissed Natasha, that night, cutting off her little tirade)

Beside Lyra was no doubt Natasha’s father, Richard, or something like that. The Americans called him ‘Dick’. Even fewer times had Charlie had been introduced to the man, but in the photos he had been shown, he was tall, proud. Natasha might’ve looked like her mother at certain angles, but Charlie knew that she was her father’s daughter, through and through. Perhaps, what made the knot in his stomach grow, was seeing how the normally upright man was beside Natasha’s bed, head in hands, shaking as he sobbed silently. 

“Oh, Charles, I didn’t see you there, dear.”

Lyra spots him, and Charlie works his way around Natasha’s family to give an awkward hug. “Sorry, I just arrived.” Even his words weren’t coming out quite right. He was looking anywhere other than the bed.

“Yes, William said he was going to get you. Thank you for coming… Natasha, she—she’s always been fond of you.” Charlie doesn’t think, that maybe her mother didn’t know the real ins and outs of their longterm relationship. If he could call it that. 

“I—I. Yeah.” No, he didn’t know what to say. Not with his arms crossed over his chest, finally allowing his gaze to start to travel up the bed. Lyra smiles at him, in the annoyingly knowing way that Natasha did, when she worked something out. Maybe she did know, after all.

But Charlie finds he couldn’t focus on the similarities between mother and daughter, when he finds himself staring at Natasha’s face. Bruised, swollen. Left side of her face, along the curve of her jaw, reaching towards her ear, was a set of vicious marks, that disappeared under her gown when he let his gaze drop. If Charlie didn’t know any better, he would’ve simply said burns. But a little voice in the back of his head reminded him this was a ward for _dangerous bites_ , and that made him run just a fraction colder.

“Do they… know anything? When did they find her?”

Charlie was sure he was just asking the same questions that Lyra had been answering for days, but she answers with a strong voice. “At this point, they’re not sure. They believe it was a creature, but Natasha was found a little far from the grounds in the—in the snow.” A slight hiccup, that Charlie politely ignores. “She was at Durmstrang to break curses, so she might’ve released something.”

They both knew that Natasha wasn’t like that, not anymore. Lyra’s tone told him so too. “Why isn’t she at a hospital in Northern Europe?” Whilst the actual position of Durmstang wasn’t told to him, Charlie did have a relatively rough idea. It only occurred to him then, that they had transported her back to Britain. 

Lyra sighs a little, the expected tiredness creeping in to her voice. “She was up there for a week, before they made the decision to move her. Apparently the facilities here are better.” 

Whilst he knew he couldn’t speculate, but his eyes climb up to the dingy roof, the series of bright baubles being the only light. Better facilities? What a joke. 

For one whole moment, they stand there, watching as Natasha’s chest rose and fell with each deep breath. Charlie assumed they had induced sleep, as he couldn’t remember a time she slept that soundly. Maybe he took a step forward, or sighed in some way, but Lyra pats his hand, reaches for her husband. “We’ll give you two a moment.”

Richard crumbles in his wife’s arms, and the few members of their family follow, until the room was practically empty. Only then does Charlie realise Bill hadn’t left, not yet. He didn’t know what to do next, suddenly aware of his hands shaking, of his vision blurring. Bill takes a seat next to Natasha’s bed, kicks his leg up to rest ankle on knee. “Sit, before you fall over.”

Nodding, Charlie takes what was Richard’s now empty seat. Natasha’s right, where there was no apparent damage. Charlie’s hand wavers, just a little, just a lot, as he reaches for Natasha’s hand. Wasn’t sure if it was allowed, and quite frankly didn’t care at that point, as he holds her hand in both of his. 

He had never noticed how small her hands were, until that moment. 

Bill leans back in his chair, eyes closing. Giving Charlie some privacy? He takes a moment to study his brother, the dark rings, the droopy shoulders. Whilst Bill held it together for administrative stuff, Charlie knew he was tired. Wound up. Arms still folded over his chest, head leaning back. Not a comfortable position to sleep in, not at all, but within a few minutes Charlie can hear the soft snores.

Taking that as the final word from Bill, Charlie looks back at Natasha. Sees the bruises, the scrapes. Thinks of how many others times she’d looked like this, grin on her face, bloody lip and claiming victory. This time was different. She was tiny, broken. And Charlie didn’t want to think like that, not really, not at all. 

He wants to say ‘I should’ve been there’, but that was stupid. He couldn’t have been. He _wouldn’t_ have been. Charlie was in Romania, and Natasha was somewhere far north, and that’s how they had been for a while now. He remembers Bill’s comment about Apparition, not being able to go that far. And he remembers how he failed his test, ending up further than he should’ve been. 

Charlie laughs at that, to himself, despite it all. Squeezes Natasha’s fingers, as he remembers how merciless she had been in her teasing. What he wouldn’t give to go back, do it all over again. Do it right. Where they’d actually talk, stop making promises, stop saying sorry. Maybe not cutting out the making out in the Quidditch locker rooms, but definitely all the other bits. The awkwardness and the tears and the cold shoulders. 

With his eyes only on Natasha’s face, searching for some sign of her, underneath all the pain, does Charlie bring her hand closer to his lips. Presses a firm kiss, to each of her knuckles. Holds her there, eyes closed, breathing short. As Charlie lets go, finally, thick tears escaping the corners of his eyes, he hears the hitch in her breath, the quiet noises of discomfort. What he wouldn’t give.


End file.
